He whakaaro: Let them choose their own path

Let them choose their own path 

Nā Megan Pōtiki

I have three children, a daughter (Rīpeka) and two sons (Tīmoti and Tūkitaharaki). When I gave birth to Tīmoti, my oldest son, and held him in my arms for the first few moments, my husband said that I gasped with a deep love, an incredible sound he hadn’t heard before. There is an unusual connection between a mother and son, an
aho that is unbreakable, an emotional and profound bond that is unexplainable. I have this with both my sons. The connection with Rīpeka is the same but different; her father
acutely felt this bond with her in a way that was different to the boys – all connections that are unique and special.

It is important I set the context by way of explaining my relationship with my children, because the moment Tīmo told me he wanted to go to boarding school I started
to weep (on the inside haha). I would never have dreamt of sending my beautiful baby boy to a school exactly 954km away. I was grieving before he even left.

The reason he decided to go was fairly complex, but simply put his father was terminally ill for a long time and subsequently died, leaving my boy struck by deep grief and anger. His aunty suggested that we consider sending him to Hato Paora Māori Boys College. She recognised his need for a Māori brotherhood and male Māori leadership as he felt bereft of this when his Dad passed away. That idea stuck with him and not long after he appeared fromhis bedroom saying he needed to go to that boarding school. He was just 12 years old.

I think that part of my sharing here is to say that this journey isn’t for the faint hearted, nor is it for everyone. If there is one takeaway, I hope it’s that readers will see that it’s horses for courses – different pathways for everyone. Rīpeka went to a local school and I absolutely believe that was the best decision for her.

Tīmo and I decided to go to the open day. We flew to Wellington, hired a car and drove to the school, 10 kilometres out of Feilding, down a long road in what felt like the middle of nowhere. A Catholic school (we are non-denominational, a family of athiests but with a back history of Anglican and Methodist religion) and as we sat in chapel,
he lent over to me and whispered, “thank you māmā, this school is for me”.

So the journey began. A uniform from Gracies in Feilding, enrolment, packing up duvets, towels – all the things we were told he needed and more – and a naughty scholarship (my description) from the MoE.

Tīmo wasn’t a leading star at that point, so getting support to attend the school was straightforward – he was in. We all went to his pōwhiri and they called out his name and
his iwi, “Tīmoti Huriwhenua Pōtiki Karetai, nō Ngāi Tahu me Te Ātiawa” and he crossed over the marae ātea and he was theirs. We said goodbye, I hugged him, no tears, turned
away, went to the car and drove away. It was wrenching to say the least, but I summoned some inner strength to do it.

Tīmo kept the reality of his experience from me for a few years. The first year was brutal, I am not going to sugarcoat it. Four to five KPs (Kingpins) were removed after an incident, and the ramifications of the bullying were evident when I picked him up for weekend leave four weeks into his first term. He was from the farthest south they had had, and he was on a mammoth cultural learning curve. His brotherhood was thrown together, all Māori boys from diverse backgrounds, forced to live together.

It took about a year and a half before he settled in. There were tears rolling down his face every time I put him on the plane back to school and I would say, “stay home, you
can go to a local school, you don’t have to go back”, and he would tell me it was his choice and he was sticking with it. Eventually his brokenness, grief for his father, anger
and deep sadness started to unfurl like a phoenix rising from the ashes. He connected with his brotherhood unlike anything I have ever seen. He stood tall, engaged in rugby,
led haka, became absolutely determined and fixed on his fitness, stoic, comedic and resilient. The school was a game changer.

Watching on was his quiet youngerbrother, Tūkitaharaki. Quite a different character. Tuki spent three years in a local mainstream school, was a natural leader and academically astute. He is talented (biased māmā) and liked by all, including the teachers. He is that high achieving kid who is never a problem. Last year he told me he wanted to go to Hato Paora and honestly it’s as if he has been there a lifetime. He adores the teachers and his mates, is playing guitar like it is an extension of his body and absolutely loves everything about the school. Suffice to say my boys have become a part of the DNA of that school and vice versa, and what a journey, for all of us.

I want to mihi to Hato Paora College, the leadership, kaiako, dorm parents, the whānau who have taken my boys in at various points, to everyone and everything about that school that has made it what it is for my boys, I salute you.